Written in Time

An Offer She Could Definitely Refuse

Thea didn't know what to think. Those three boys definitely weren't there twenty minutes ago, but here they are now, crouching behind some bushes across from her house. They probably thought they were being inconspicuous. That one boy's blond curly hair, however, stuck out painfully against the green shrubbery. Thea tried to ignore them, hoping they would eventually disappear like all of her problems if she acted as if they literally weren't watching her grab the grocery bags from her trunk. They whispered-shouted to each other, which certainly didn't help the fact that Thea felt mildly uncomfortable by their presence.

Still, Thea slammed her trunk shut and quickly shuffled over to her front door, ignoring the pain in her fingers from carrying so many bags at once. Three pairs of eyes bore into her back as she tried to unlock the door as fast as possible. Shit, she thought as her fingers lost grip of the keys, dropping to the ground with a clink. As she bent down to pick them up, a voice called from behind her.

    "Hey! Wait!"

    The voice startled her enough to make her jump and hit her head on the door handle. Ouch. Still holding the bags, she turned, red-faced, and made eye-contact with the blond-haired boy behind her. He smiled sheepishly at her with an apologetic look on his face. His left foot was on the bottom stair of her porch, but he didn't make any move to get closer to her. Maybe, hopefully, he realized how utterly creepy they were acting.

    "Can I help you?" she spoke through gritted teeth, much harsher than she usually was, and sat down the bags in front of the door. She rubbed the top of her head, embarrassed that he had to see that.

    "Um, yeah...well, I hope so. You see, my friends and I," he began, motioning to the other two boys still in the bushes. One of them waved to her and the other slapped his hand down. They seemed harmless enough.

    Blondie turned back to her and let out an exasperated sigh. "Our machine broke, like, half an hour ago. And we've heard, ya know, around town that your dad works on stuff like that or something?" He motioned with his hand to the neighboring houses. "So, we were wondering if you could, uh, maybe, help us?"

    He audibly swallowed and a blush crept on his face as he waited for Thea's answer. Cute, she thought. She watched his face for a moment as he fidgeted with his fingers and picked at the skin around his nails. For some odd reason, his blue eyes were familiar to her, even if she was sure she had never met him before. The fact that he seemed so close made Thea relax. She was also impressed by his choice of clothing—a green sweater with a white collar poking out tucked into loose jeans—not many boys her age dressed well.

    "My dad's not here right now," she answered, bending down to grab her fallen keys, "but you can use whatever tools you need, he has a lot of them."

    "Oh...oh, well, are you sure he'll be okay with that? We can come back later."

    "No, no, it's okay, he won't mind, I'm sure." she insisted, twisting the key and pushing the door open. "Just help me with these bags and I'll open the garage for you."

    He mumbled an agreement and picked up half of the bags with ease, following her into the kitchen and placing them wherever she wanted them. The blush on his face didn't go away either, even when Thea pressed the garage door button and showed him the massive array of tools her father used on a daily basis.  He took a lot of pride in his collection.

    "Don't mind the mess," Thea remarked, eyeing the half-finished projects her dad has started.

    Leaning against the door frame, Thea watched as he waved his friends over. The shortest of the three sauntered over coolly, pulling leaves out of his caramel-brown hair and smacking the top of the garage with the tip of his fingers. He had on an ugly orange button-up shirt that looked like it belonged in a grandpa's closet, but strangely, he made it look decent. The other followed behind him at a slower pace, rolling his eyes when his friend's fingers grazed the garage. In his arms, he held a black box, about the size of a handheld radio. It looked surprisingly professional for being in the possession of three teenage boys.